


Celestial Bodies

by nahco3



Series: Three Words [2]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-29
Updated: 2011-08-29
Packaged: 2017-10-23 05:39:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/246829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nahco3/pseuds/nahco3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It makes Silva so angry sometimes; angry at Mori, with his careless smile and his chuckle; angry at Raul, proud and crowned with white; angry at the shards of himself he’s bothered to keep; angry at David for the determined set of his shoulders and for his flashing eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Celestial Bodies

**Author's Note:**

> written in 2008, during Euros, so this is a little old.

David pulls in Silva without even trying, the way a sun strings planets into orbit; a careless, meaningless attraction, an attraction that scorches and freezes in equal measure, but never lessens.

Silva doesn’t bother to fight it, at first because he won’t and later because he can’t. This distinction becomes wholly irrelevant, with David’s hands pulling his pants off, David’s teeth marking his neck.

David knows what Silva isn’t, and he shows it with phone calls, with the arrogance with which he claims his new jersey, with shrugs, with backhanded comments, with the way he only laughs for Mori. But Silva knows what he isn’t too; maybe better than David does, because Silva knows he isn’t anyone but David’s.

It makes Silva so angry sometimes; angry at Mori, with his careless smile and his chuckle; angry at Raul, proud and crowned with white; angry at the shards of himself he’s bothered to keep; angry at David for the determined set of his shoulders and for his flashing eyes.

Then David will ruffle Silva’ hair and smile like he means everything he’s never said, and Silva will blush, and it’s all gone, all except the ache in his chest.

Their room has a balcony, where Silva likes to sit after dark and watch the stars, his back against the wall. The air still smells a little like smoke – Xabi had come by, briefly, and smoked a cigarette while they watched the sun set over the Alps. He’d shrugged an apology before lighting up but Silva had waved it off. He understands unbreakable habits.

Now Silva waits. Above him, a hundred thousand pinprick suns appear, one by one, now that their brighter cousin has deserted the earth, temporarily. The moon rises, shinning in her coat of stolen light. Silva shivers, pointlessly worries he’ll fall out into the sky, that nothing will pull him back from that cold emptiness.

David comes out eventually, slumps down next to him, but they don’t touch. He looks over at Silva, his skin pale in moonlight, and his eyes blacker than ever. He throws his arm over Silva’s shoulder and Silva leans in next to him.

“Cold out,” David says, conversationally, and grins as Silva wraps an arm around David’s waist.

They sit like that for a while, in silence.

“Who called?” Silva asks.

“My wife,” David says, with a one of his careless half shrugs. He twists to bite at Silva’s jaw line, removes his arm from Silva’s shoulder and slides so he’s kneeling in front of Silva. He pushes Silva up against the wall, quickly, with a studied violence that is utterly David, and kisses him almost gently.

Silva molds himself against David, kisses him back, pulls the other man closer, gives him everything he asks for and more, hopes against hope that he can give enough. David’s gentler than usual, maybe, but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t burn.

They lie on the balcony, looking at the stars. Silva raises his head to watch David, who stretches and sighs, before meeting Silva’s eyes.

He flashes a quick smile at Silva, and raises his hand to push Silva’s hair out of his eyes. Silva rolls over before he can and looks back up at the sky. Before David can do anything else, his cell phone rings.

Silva finds it first, tangled in the pocket of David’s discarded pants, and hands it to David without a sound. David answers.

“Hey Mori,” he says, with a little laugh. Silva starts to turn away, but David reaches out and stops him. He leans down and kisses Silva’s collar bone, cell phone still to his ear. Silva can hear Mori’s voice, distorted through the cell phone’s speakers.

David removes his lips from Silva’s shoulder, barely, and laughs again. His breath is hot on Silva’s cold skin. “I’d love to chat,” David says, “but can I call you back later? I’m kind of busy right now.”

Silva can hear Mori’s reply, oh, no problem, talk to you later then, bye David, and David hangs up and tosses his cell onto the pile of their clothes.

“I,” Silva says, because he wants to say so much, but can’t.

David smiles, his cruel smile, but his eyes are sad. “Don’t,” he says, and so Silva doesn’t, because he is afraid of what he will regret giving up tomorrow, and afraid suddenly and irrationally, that he will hurt David.

Silva is asleep when the sun rises that morning, but David is awake, twisting his wedding ring and watching the stars disappear, one by one.


End file.
